She Couldn't Hear Me
by KenClauds
Summary: Updated and Finished The death that launched a thousand chords from Roger's POV. Please review if you're reading, I encourage flames :
1. Connections

*Again, they're not mine…*

"Doko ni datte, hito wa tsunagatte iru…"

She Couldn't Hear Me…

-M.C.-

The thing I remember best about her was the whites of her eyes as the coroner rolled her over; not her tinny laugh, her crooked smile, nor her gold-tinted hair in the sunlight, but the whites of her dead for three hours eyes. Pretty sad, don't you think? The people in charge kept asking me if she'd left a note, made 'any statements' and shit like that, but that wasn't any of their fucking business. Yeah, she left a note. But it was my note, it was for me; it was the note that ruined my life and they had no fucking right to have it.

She killed herself because of me, because I'd gone out and shot up once too often with my good for nothing, asshole friends and then brought her home more than some pure powder. I loved her; I loved her from the moment I'd found her. And I'd killed her.

She was 19; I had just turned 22. She wasn't really my type… She was smart, ya know? Not the everyday bimbo that I'd pick up at the club. She was studying music education up at Columbia and, for god only knows why, she and a pack of her friends were at CBGB's one night while we were playing. I think some of them knew the drummer or something. I hadn't really noticed her during my sets; I kept my eyes closed, I hated all the glossy eyes staring at me and loving some superficial image. Yeah, they were good for the occasional fuck, but only after a couple of drinks… Ok, a lot of drinks…

When we were done the set, I was slung over the bar, trying to ignore the 16 year olds with fake Ids who were gawking at me. All of a sudden, I felt this tap on my shoulder and I looked up and lost everything in these deep pools of clear green…

__

"Umm, hello?" the blond repeated, grinning slightly as she waved her hand back and forth in front of his face. "Anyone home in there?"

His head snapped back slightly, and he turned to look at her. "Oh… Sorry, spacing out a little bit." His eyes looked her over quickly before becoming fixated on hers. "Can I help ya with something?"

She slipped onto the stool beside him, pushing some unruly hair behind her ear. "Just wanted to say I liked your set…" She spun around on her stool, watching the rest of the band along with her friends. "I think my friends are harassing your bassist. I dunno, being a groupie just isn't my thing…" She looked back over at him, blushing because he was still watching her. "Sorry, I'm talking too much. I'm April," she commented, thrusting her hand out towards him.

"Roger…" he mumbled, absently taking her hand in his. 

She grinned slightly, tugging at her hair again. "Ya know, in that last song, if you'd change the second guitar part from an F major to D minor during the bridge, it would sound better…" She shrugged a little. "Just a suggestion." She hopped up when she saw her friends waving at her. "Anyways, looks like they're done, and I've got class in the morning. Nice… talking at you." She smiled slightly.

He just blinked a few times before noticing she was leaving. "Hey… hey wait a minute…" he called, grabbing for her hand. "You noticed that sounded funny too?"

She smiled again. "Yeah…" Looking him over, she glanced back at her friends. "Hey… Stay here for a second, I'll be right back…" She pushed through the crowd and stopped her friends, talking to them quickly. After a minute, she was back beside him. "I don't get to talk music much… I told them I'd catch up with them later…" She looked around for a minute before turning back to him. "Do you wanna, maybe, head out of here for a while? Get some coffee and talk about the idiosyncrasies of guitar chords?" 

He nodded, opened mouthed and stood up. "Yeah, yeah that sounds good… Let me grab my guitar…"

She was brilliant… She understood me and let me just talk about my music at her and she never complained… It made me love her more. I honestly thought she'd think I was crazy after that first night. Thought she'd avoid me like the plague… But she came back. She came back to all of my shows in all of the skeezy clubs. I don't even know how she found half of them, but she came. And she stayed… 

I don't think I was ever good enough for her…


	2. What do I have to do?

*still not mine*

"I know exactly what you're thinking. But I swear this time I won't let you down. I'm not as selfish as I used to be. That was a part of me that never made me proud. Right now I think I would try anything, anything at all to keep you satisfied. God I hope you see what losing you will do to me. All I want is one more chance, so tell me… What do I have to do to make you happy? What do I have to do to make you understand? What do I have to do to make you want me? And if I can't make you want me what do I have to do?" –Stabbing Westward-

  
Chapter Two:  
  
  
  
I still don't get why, out of all the not fucked up assholes, and even the only half way fucked up assholes, in this city, she picked a loser like me. I mean, there's no better way to describe me then; I slept from dawn till dusk, played lousy gigs in hole-in-the-wall bars, fucked anything that came into my path, and spent the rest of the time so smashed off my ass that I couldn't tell you which way was up. Yet, after my shows, she'd always be the one to come up to me and cling to my arm, giving disapproving looks to me and all the people she had to share me with.  
  
She was the one who got me hooked up with Mark and everybody to begin with. Me being the dumb ass that I am, I got myself evicted from the only shoddy, overpriced, one room shit hole I could actually afford and had no fucking clue what I would do, where I would go…  


__

She stumbled away from her desk to answer the pounding on her door. Yanking it open, she smirked slightly and leaned against the door frame, staring up at the sopping wet musician who had all his possessions strapped to his back. "Something the matter, Roge?" she asked nonchalantly, stepping aside so he could squeeze in past her.  
  
He flopped down on her bed, kicking his muddy feet up on the blanket. "I need a place to crash…" He watched her as she retook her seat at the desk, studying every movement she made, the tensing and relaxing of the muscles on her back, the way she fiddled with her hair, until she turned to face him again. "Can I sleep on the floor until I find somewhere?"  
  
She furrowed her brow slightly. "Maureen'll kill me…" she mumbled, tapping her fingers against the top of her word processor as she chewed on her bottom lip. "She was really pissed last time she tripped over you…"   
  
He sat up and slid over to her, batting his eyes in an attempt to be cute. "It'll only be a couple of days, I'll find somewhere to stay real quick. I bet my drummer will let me stay with him. Just gotta track him down first…" He reached over and ran a heavily callused thumb up and down her free hand. "And I can always sleep on the bed… Then she'd trip over you when she came in."  
  
She shook her head and whacked him lightly, then moved over to sit beside him. "Maybe you could talk to her boyfriend, I think he needs another roommate. He always needs new roommates…" She looked over at her clock. "She should be stumbling in a few hours from now." Moving an inch closer to him, she pushed some wet hair out of his face. "You're gonna get sick if you stay in that wet shit all night."  
  
He turned around slightly, pulling his legs up Indian style beneath him. "Warm me up?" he asked, grinning as he put his hands on her shins and pulled her closer to him. When she shivered under his touch, he started to move his hands quickly up and down her bare legs. "Or warm you up, maybe…" he whispered, leaning his face in till it was only inches away from hers. She turned her face as he moved in to kiss her and his lips landing flatly on her cheek. "What?" he groaned, eyeing her as she moved back to her desk chair. He turned around, frowning. "What did I do this time?"  
  
She kept her back facing him as she buried her head in her arms on the table. She felt his hand brush against her back and she jerked away, craning her neck to look at him. "And how long will this last this time? One night, a week?"

He groaned again and fell back on the bed. "Jesus, April!" Frowning, he pulled himself upright, crossing his legs again. "What do you want me to do? I said I was sorry about last time!" 

"Sorry that you fucked me, sorry that you fucked that girl the same day or sorry that you got caught?" Her head snapped to the door as it slammed open and Maureen and her four-eyed boyfriend came in. "I think you should go," she whispered, not looking back at him.

"April…" he whispered, reaching for her hand again. When she yanked it away, he sighed and picked at one of his bags. "Where'm I gonna go now?"

She shook her head, then looked over at the newcomers. "Hey, Mark… You still have an empty couch in your place?"

The blond pushed up his glasses and nodded. "Uh, yeah… Collins', uh, boyfriend moved out…"

She pointed at Roger. "Here. Just… get him out of here." She turned around again and stared at her desk.

While Maureen and Mark talked softly amongst themselves, Roger slid over behind her and started to rub her arms lightly. "I'm sorry…" He turned her chair so she was forced to face him and, kneeling down in front of her, rested his chin on her knees, eyes imploring her to forgive him. He dropped his hands onto his own knees. "I'll make you forgive me," he whispered, moving his hands up to squeeze her legs lightly before standing to pick up his stuff from the floor. Watching her for a minute more, he sighed before turning and looking at the other two. "I'm ready," he mumbled, shuffling his feet around as he made his way out the door…

Needless to say, Mark was not too happy to have to take me home with him. I mean, how would you feel if you had planned on getting some quick ass and got sent home with blue balls and some jackass punk?

God, I hated to see her like that. 


	3. Rhyme

*Would you believe, still not mine? And the song's Joshua's, but I like it… Damn you for taking me to that concert :-* *  
  
"I wish, I may, I might be the sky 'round your world tonight. Hold your breath and feel your eyes... I look, I glance, I stare. Carrying the dare 'cause we know the truth. Filling up the air with words everyone uses. But our only use is to spell out time until we rhyme. I kiss, I feel, I touch… Wanting very much to be one with you…"- Joshua Kobak -  
  
  
  
Chapter Three:  
  
  
  
I didn't come out of my half of the curtained off closet for a week. I sat there and played bad chords on my guitar, trying to write a decent song. Mark would occasionally slide a bowl of cereal or some cold pizza in to me. After a couple of days, he would come in and we'd talk. Or, I'd talk and he'd listen to me jabber on. He rarely said anything, but when he did it'd be exactly what I needed to hear exactly when I didn't want to hear it. He's always been like that, I guess, and let me tell you how damned annoying that is. He didn't really try to coddle me then either; he told me I'd fucked up with April and that I had to do more than apologise half assedly if I wanted her to trust me again. Oh yeah, that's easy to say for someone who wasn't caught with his pants down by his, well, kinda girlfriend.  
  
All those talks with Mark kinda helped me clear my head up a little bit. We had a lot more in common than I thought. Both starving artists whose fathers hated what they attempted to do for a living with mothers who weren't any more supportive. I figured out after a while why Mark felt so bad for April; Maureen fucked around on him more than I did on April. Poor kid. That's kinda funny, me calling Mark a kid, he's like two years older than me or something.  
  
I didn't even try to talk to her for two weeks. Didn't think she'd want to see me. Hell, I wasn't even gonna try to talk to her that soon. I had a gig that weekend and, in the break between the sets, I saw her trying to sneak out of the bar.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Hey, April, wait!" he pushed through the crowd and reached out, grabbing her arm as she slipped to the door.  
  
  
  
She looked back and shook her head. "I gotta get going, Roge…" Pulling her arm away, she managed to push through the last five feet and out the door.  
  
  
  
Roger stood there and stared, mouth agape for a second, until he felt a clammy hand on his shoulder. His bassist yelled in his ear that they needed to go back on stage, but he shrugged him off and slammed out the door. "April!" he called, running after her. She stopped, still not turning to look at him, and he moved in front of her.  
  
  
  
"Wh-what Roger?" she managed, pushing hair out of her face as she looked up at him.  
  
  
  
All of a sudden, he felt shy for no apparent reason. He stared down at his feet, shuffling them around on the sidewalk. "I, umm, I want you to stay." It came out quiet, and a lot wimpier than he had intended it to.  
  
  
  
She sighed, looking around the block for a means of escape. She found none. With another sharp exhale, she shifted on her feet and then made her way to a bench by an adjacent building. Plopping down, she pulled her legs up underneath herself.  
  
  
  
He watched her for a second before moving over and perching on the arm of the bench, facing her. He dug into his pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "H-here," he choked, shoving it into her hands.  
  
  
  
Turning it over between her fingers for a minute, she examined it before looking up at him. "What's this?"  
  
  
  
His hands suddenly became the most interesting things in the tri-state area. "Just- open it," he mumbled, fingers turning his silver rings. He cast his eyes up slightly, peering at her through the hair that fell to his nose. "It's a… It's a song I've been working on." He paused, looking back down. "For you," he added quickly, stumbling on the words a little bit.  
  
  
  
She kept her eyes down after reading it over twice. Clearing her throat, she looked over at him. "I… I like it," she whispered, a slight smile gracing her face.  
  
  
  
He looked up quickly and smiled, dimples digging into his cheeks. "You do?" He kept smiling, then looked down at his hands. "Mark… We've been talking a lot since I moved in there. Well, after he got tired of glaring at me and calling me an asshole to the other guys there. He told me I should tell you how I feel…" He motioned to the paper. "That's how I feel."  
  
  
  
She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped and looked back over her shoulder when she heard someone calling for him. It was the bassist again. He came over and grabbed Roger's arm, telling him they needed him now.  
  
  
  
Roger looked up and nodded, shoving him off his arm. "Gimme five minutes, I'll be right there." The bassist turned and jogged back inside as Roger looked back to April. "Stay… Maybe we can get some coffee or something after this set's done."  
  
  
  
She shook her head again. "I should go… I have a test tomorrow and I… I should just go." She stood up quickly, wheeling around to look at him. She dropped the paper in his lap. "Thank you…"  
  
  
  
He grabbed her hand and pulled her back as he stood up, crumpling the notebook paper in his free hand. "No! No… I'm not letting you go so easy." Releasing her arm, he looked up at her. She kept staring away from him, and he reached up, turning her chin to look at him. He stared into her eyelids until she looked up, then scanned her eyes with his. Holding up the crunched paper, he shook it slightly as he spoke through clenched teeth. "This… I mean every word of this." He looked away, opening it up and reading it to himself. " 'Wanting very much to be one with you… Discovering the things that we knew were true…' I don't just write shit like this for any girl that walks by me. I don't lock myself in my room for two weeks over every person that thinks I'm a jackass." He frowned and looked up at the sky, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry that I'm a fuck up. I know that I'm a fuck up… I know I don't deserve someone like you, someone who's smart and pretty and so not a fuck up like you. I'm not gonna fuck around anymore. I'll prove it to you…" He sighed softly and dropped the paper on the ground, turning and taking a couple of steps back to the club. "I… Good luck on your test. If you need me, I'll be at Mark's…"  
  
  
  
She watched him for a minute, then looked at the ground. Bending slightly at the knee, she scooped up the paper and held it tightly in her hand. She glanced to her hand, then back up to him. "I… I love you," she whispered before spinning around and booking it to the subway stop on the corner of the cross street.  
  
  
  
His eyes went wide and he whirled around in time to see her descending down the stairs. With a groan, he slammed his fist into the wall of the bar before going back in with bloody knuckles…  
  
  
  
I got so high that night. She said she loved me… I don't get how something like that can be both the best and worst feeling of my life at the same time. 


	4. The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore

*Nope, not yet…*  
  
"Speak to me of heroin and speed, of genocide and suicide, of syphilis and greed. Speak to me the language of love, the language of violence, the language of the heart. This isn't the first time I've asked for money or love. Heaven and earth don't ever mean enough. Speak to me of heroin and speed, just give me something I can believe…" -P.J. Harvey-  
  
  
  
Chapter 4:  
  
  
  
I got back on stage that night and wanted to forget everything that had happened with April, the fight, the damned song, everything she said… Through all our music, I kept hearing her voice over and over again; kept hearing her say 'I love you' and hating herself for doing it, for saying it, for loving me. I couldn't shake how angry her voice was, how scared…  
  
I had to get it out of my head. So I got fucked up and I fucked some random groupie who was hanging around after hours. Twice before we even left the bar. That's how it always happened though. After the bar would close up, they'd always let about a half dozen girls or so just hang around. We'd shoot up, smoke something, keep drinking, most of the time all of the above, then we'd fuck 'em. Then we'd all go home to our girlfriends; or rather the other guys would go home to their girlfriends. Usually I'd go home with one of the girls. A couple of times with two.  
  
It was almost three AM when I stumbled back into the loft that night, or rather, morning…  
  
  
  
He was greeted at the door by a very angry looking Mark. He slumped against the doorframe with a grin. "What's crawled up your ass and died tonight?"  
  
  
  
Mark glared at him and walked back in the loft through the kitchen like area. "You have a visitor. Don't fuck it up."  
  
  
  
Roger lurched forward, dragging his guitar after him. His head was still spinning from the drugs and he couldn't quite figure out who would be coming to see him here. "Well, who the hell is it and what do they want?" he growled, stopping to dig in the fridge for a beer before stumbling into the other room. He stopped in his tracks when he saw April sitting on the couch, fidgeting with her hands.  
  
  
  
After leaning down to hug her and whisper something in her ear, Mark turned to glare at him some more. "Apparently she thinks you're worth something." He squeezed April's hand once, then walked over to Roger. "Don't fuck it up again," he muttered, then went down the hall to his bedroom.  
  
  
  
Turning for a minute to watch him walk away, Roger dropped his guitar from his back onto the floor before moving any closer to April. Seeing her again so soon made him feel even more crappy about what he'd been up to. "H-hi," he mumbled, sitting on the dinky couch beside her. His hands started getting clammy and he rubbed them against his pants nervously. "I, umm, I wasn't expecting to see you here…"  
  
  
  
April looked up at him for a minute then back into her lap. "Mark caught Maureen with some guy and some girl from our dorm again… I didn't want him to have to come back alone." She looked over at the clock on the wall. "I didn't think you'd be gone this long," she whispered. Standing slowly, she kept looking away. "I guess I should probably go now that you're back."  
  
  
  
He reached out and grabbed her wrist with his sweaty hand. "Don't," he cleared his throat, "don't go."  
  
  
  
She looked back at him quickly with wide eyes. "Are you trashed?" She pulled her hand away. "I'm not gonna talk to you while you're trashed."  
  
  
  
Groaning, he started pulling at his hair. "Look, I'm sorry! If I had known you were gonna be here, I wouldn't have, ok?" He pulled his legs up under him. "Please don't go… We should talk… I'm crashing, I need someone here."  
  
  
  
April sighed and pulled a chair away from the table, slumping down into it. "Talk," she muttered, looking up at him just a little bit.  
  
  
  
"Did you mean it?" he questioned, his voice quiet and shaky.  
  
  
  
She stared down at her fingers as she nodded. "Do you think I would just say that for the hell of it? I don't go confessing shit like that to every asshole I meet on the street," she commented, smirking at him.  
  
  
  
He smiled at her slightly. "I deserve that…" Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and held it in his. "I've never been good at this. The longest time I was with a girl was like three weeks without fucking it up… And that was you!" He looked up at her, reaching out to touch her cheek. "I'm not gonna fuck it up again, if you want to try. Please tell me you want to try…"  
  
  
  
She looked up past him, tears on her cheeks. "I can't… I don't…" She nodded, looking up at the ceiling as she exhaled. "I do," she whispered, still not looking at him.  
  
  
  
He kept smiling when she said that. It took him a moment to notice she was crying, and he made a move to wipe off her cheeks for her. "I know you probably don't want to stay here… But it's gotta be better than going back and trying not to listen to Maureen fucking people," he offered with a grin.  
  
  
  
She laughed a little at that. She let him pull her onto the couch without protest, then curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.  
  
  
  
He buried his head in her hair. "You smell good," he whispered, holding onto her. Leaning in, he kissed her ear lightly and added, "I think… I love you too…"  
  
  
  
1 It all made perfect sense… 


	5. Burn/Mary Mary...

1 *Nopers… Ooo, two songs this time, coz I don't know which is better for the chapter.*  
  
  
  
"Every night I burn, every night I call your name, every night I burn, every night I fall again. Don't talk of love 'cause shadows blur, murmuring me away from you. Don't talk of worlds that never were, the end is always ever true. There's nothing you can ever say nothing you can ever do… Still, every night I burn, every night I scream your name…" -The Cure-  
  
"It's raining stones, it's raining bile from the luxury of your denial. So I don't deny, I don't make do, I'll press alarms, place bets on truth. I'll spit on floors and do more drugs, burn every bill, get drunk on love. Wear next to nothing in the pouring rain, be a bad example and do it all again. I'll be un-careful, I'll cause such scenes, and I'll never talk of used-to- bes. Tattoo my face, I won't go gray, be a dancing queen. I'm growing old disgracefully. I'm so up and down, and I love what's not allowed. I was lost, now I see: and now I'm growing old disgracefully." -Chumbawumba  
  
  
  
Chapter 5:  
  
  
  
She hated that I did drugs, and I hated that she hated that. It's not like I could wake up one day and just be like, 'hmm, heron, ecstasy, and speed are bad for me, I'll stop,' all cold turkey and shit. And besides, I didn't want to. That feeling you get behind your eyes right after you pop a tab, or the way the smack tingles when it's pulsing through your veins… There's nothing better than that. Well, sex sometimes, but, well, ya know. Anyways, she made me promise I'd stop doing drugs, and when I agreed to stop, I meant I'd stop getting caught.  
  
Well, that really didn't last for as long as I wanted it to. About two and a half months before I slipped up and came stumbling in late when she was spending the night…  
  
  
  
It was dark in the room save for the flickering blue light emanating from the television. Roger slipped in quietly, making sure the door didn't slam behind him, and then walked into the main room. He was about to drop his guitar on the floor when the TV snapped to black, causing him to jump back an inch.  
  
  
  
"You're late," she whispered, staring ahead at the dark box.  
  
  
  
Hitting himself on the forehead lightly, he moved around to plop on the couch beside her. "Jesus, I totally forgot. I'm so sorry…" He reached out to pull her closer, but she scooted away.  
  
  
  
Reaching to the table, April flicked on the lamp. "Let me guess. Late practice with the guys that you forgot to mention this morning?" He started to nod as she continued. "I found this in your room… I was looking for my birth control…" She held up a used, dirty needle and syringe. "I'm guessing this is really old and you just, ya know, forgot to throw it away when you were getting rid of everything, right?" He went to nod again and she started to laugh a little. "Then I found a couple more, and this one… It's still half full… So tell me, Roge, you been lying about this whole getting clean and making this work thing? Cause if you don't want to do this, I can go back to my dorm…"  
  
  
  
He grabbed her hand and shook his head wildly. "No, no… I want this to work… I lo-"  
  
  
  
"You love me, I know. You love me so much you'll lie to me so you can fuck yourself up." She looked down at the half full syringe, turning it over and over again in her fingers. "This looks like it's still good. It just goes… where?" She pulled up her sleeve and ran a finger along her smooth arm. She stopped and stared down at the bend in her elbow. "Here, right? I watched you do this a couple of times…"  
  
  
  
He grabbed at her hand, but she jerked away. "April! Don't…"  
  
  
  
She looked up at him, staring in his eyes as tears fell from hers. "Every time I find out you do this, so will I…" She tore her gaze from his and stared back down at her arm for a second, then, with a sharp breath, she closed her eyes as she jammed the needle into her arm, emptying the contents into her veins. After a second of just sitting there, not believing she'd actually done it, she pulled it out of her arm, dropping it onto the couch cushion.  
  
  
  
"April, what the fuck are you doing!" he screamed, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "Jesus, April…" He pulled her arm up and stared at it, brushing his fingers along the swollen needle mark. "How could you do something so fucking stupid…?"  
  
  
  
She looked up at him. "How can you do it every fucking day? Now you know what it feels like to watch somebody you love kill themselves with this shit…" She pushed herself up, grasping the arm of the couch tightly. "If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go throw up and pass out at the same time." She started down the hall, heading to the closet sized excuse for a bathroom.  
  
  
  
Roger shot up from his seat to go after her when the door to Mark's room popped open. He stepped out in boxers, rubbing at his eyes as he put on his glasses, managing to still be able to glare at Roger in his sleepy daze. "What the hell's all the yelling about…"  
  
  
  
"She found my stash, she shot up…" He grabbed Mark by the shoulders. "I don't know what to do."  
  
  
  
"Stop shooting up yourself," he muttered, pushing Roger away.  
  
  
  
"Fuck you… Neither one of you fucking understand."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, I understand, you're an asshole," he growled, turning to walk in the bathroom.  
  
  
  
"I don't need to take that shit from you…" he started, following him down the short hall.  
  
  
  
He spun around. "Then get out of here, runaway… Go shoot up somewhere else…" He turned away again and knocked on the bathroom door before slipping in. He closed it an inch, then shifted around so he could kneel beside April as she kept her head in the toilet. Leaning in, he rubbed her back lightly as he whispered, "Don't you ever fucking do that again…"  
  
  
  
Roger pushed the door back open and leaned in, watching them silently. After a minute, he backed down the hall and, with guitar in hand, busted out the door…  
  
  
  
Yeah, I don't see why everyone makes these cracks about Mark being like secretly gay or whatever, that he wants me. Benny's done it, Collins' done it. Hell, even Maureen's done it; but that was bullshit. He never wanted me; he wanted her. He dealt with me then because of her, and now that she's dead he deals with me because I'm the last thing he has of her. I mean, we're friends and all that, but that's because of what we both went through when she did it… God, he had so many pictures of her… I wonder if Maureen ever noticed. 


	6. Wonderwall

Not mine, not now nor ever… I stumbled upon this while packing up to move and I had always loved this story… So I'm finishing it, for my own posterity and for all of us who are grown now and used to play at RENT when we were children… Here's to the good times that we had.

"Backbeat the word was on the street/That the fire in your heart is out/I'm sure you've heard it all before/But you never really had a doubt/I don't believe that anybody feels/The way I do about you now/And all the roads we have to walk along are winding/And all the lights that lead us there are blinding/There are many things that I would like to say to you/But I don't know how/Because maybe/You're gonna be the one that saves me/And after all/You're my wonderwall…"-Oasis-

Chapter 6:

I ran away from the loft, from her… I don't even remember anymore where I went, who I did, what I used to get fucked up with. It's a moot thing now, I guess, even though I'm sure that's when I got us sick. I was gone for weeks, months, with just me and my guitar, wandering in an aimless cloud of high.

It was almost summer when I found myself outside of the marble halls of her dorm; I remember because I snuck in easily while other students carried their crap out to their parent's cars and rented trucks. She might not be there, but it was the best shot I had to find her…

_Pushing past a boy almost his age heavy laden with laundry bags, Roger took the stairs two at a time until he reached her floor. More students flowed by him as he squeezed into her hall and around the corner to her room. Skidding to a stop, he almost plowed over Mark in the doorway. "Uh… Hi," he mumbled._

_He was answered with a silent glare as Mark dropped the box he was carrying between them. Clearing his throat, Roger managed, "I was looking for April… She hasn't left yet, has she?"_

_Continuing his glare, Mark stooped to pick the box back up. "I haven't seen her since _you_ ran away… She hasn't been back here or to the loft since then." Adjusting the box on his hip, he continued, "Now if you don't mind, Maureen and I are taking her stuff in case she ever resurfaces." With that, he purposely shoved into Roger, sending him hard into the door frame. _

_Roger stared in disbelief at Mark as he disappeared down the hall, but spun back and stepped into the open room. He could not believe what Mark had said… She was gone. Looking around the room, he saw everything was either in boxes or gone. He stepped over to her bed and crumbled on it, head in hands as tears shook his shoulders. What had he done?_

_After sitting there for what felt like an eternity, he pushed himself off her bed and stumbled out of the dorm in a slight haze. Once out of the dorm, he ran past the dazed on lookers, not knowing where he was headed exactly. For hours he wandered, until the weight of his guitar grew too heavy and he was shaking too badly to even think slightly. Looking around, he discovered he was back downtown, in a disreputable park where he knew he could score without much trying. With a soft groan, he plopped on the nearest bench, letting his guitar slide onto the ground in front of him as he closed his eyes in quiet contemplation._

_No more than ten minutes later, he felt the bench creak as someone plopped down beside him and a rough voice demanded, "What you need, boy?"_

_Without even bothering to open his eyes, he slid a few bills out of his pocket and put them in the man's hand. "I need to forget…" he muttered._

_As the man stood back up, Roger pulled his hand back, the money now replaced with a small powder filled bag that he quickly slid into his coat pocket. Looking around quickly to make sure no one had seen him, he stretched, cracking his back before moving to stand. As he picked up his guitar, he looked across the park, and saw a thin blonde across the way, brushing into the man nonchalantly before looking around as he had and heading quickly toward an alley._

_Blinking a few times because he doubted what he saw, he threw the guitar across his back again and followed her. He did not see where in the alley she went at first, but heard some banging just beyond a dumpster. Barely sure that his voice would work, he chanced softly, "April?"_

_A trash can lid slid violently across the concrete, and he saw her start to run. He took after her, grabbing her arm as she skidded into a stop at the chain link fence at the end of the alley. "April, it's me…" he managed, spinning her to face him. "What are you doing?"_

_She smirked slightly, her already thin face gaunt. "Hi Roger. You still remember my name." _

_Mouth agape, he looked her up and down. Her clothes were dirty and torn, and there were bags under her eyes that led him to believe she had not slept in weeks. "What are you doing?" he repeated, more forcefully than before._

"_Well, what does it look like I'm doing, Roger?" she spat, waving a small baggie of her own in front of his eyes. "You should be well familiar with it yourself, you left me for it."_

_His hand dropped lifelessly from her arm as he continued to stare at her. "What the fuck do you mean? Don't tell me that you're…"_

_Shaking her head, she looked past him towards the street. "And don't you get fucking high and mighty on _me_, Roger. You left, I dealt. I've become what I have because of you, and you don't have to like it 'cause I'm not asking you to. I don't need your permission because you certainly never asked for mine." With that she pushed past him unceremoniously, causing him to fall back a bit._

"_W-wait!" he called, reaching for her again._

_She spun to face him, her eyes on fire. "What do you want from me now, after all this time? What can you possibly want? What do I owe you now?" When he did not answer, she shook her head again. "I can't believe you," she muttered, trying to shake free from his grasp._

_He held onto her, forcing her to stand and look at him. "I want you to stay…"_

_She laughed lightly, continuing to shake her head in disbelief. "And what fucking right do you have to want that?"_

"_I love y-" he began._

"_How dare you, how fucking dare you!" she demanded, pushing him hard on the chest. "Don't ever fucking say that to me, Roger! You don't even know what love is."_

_He watched as a few tears slipped down her cheeks, washing a thin path through the dirt smudges. He dropped his hand away as if her arm burned. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, not knowing what else to say to her. "I shouldn't have left…"_

"_You're damn right you shouldn't have!" she spat back at him. Inhaling deeply, she turned away from him, walking deeper into the alley instead of out. She slid down the wall, perching on the edge of the curb as she stared down at her hands, turning the bag over and over again between her fingers._

_Steeling himself to the chance of further insult, he followed her, dropping to his knees in front of her and pulling her hands into his. "I'm sorry," he whispered with as much sincerity as he could muster. "It doesn't make it right, but I'm sorry…" With one hand, he pushed her sleeve up and stared down at her arm and all the bruising in the bend of her elbow. Licking his lips as he continued to gaze down, he managed, "You should start using the other one; with all the tracks… It won't work as well."_

_Leaning over, she brushed her lips near his ear as she muttered, "Then do it for me, I always fuck it up when I try…"_

I'm not proud of what I did then… I shot her up and then fucked her in an alley in the middle of the Village. Twice. And, God help me, I loved every minute of it. I got us both ridiculously high, and led her back to the loft where I did it again, knowing Mark could hear every minute of it and hate me more for it. But he didn't understand, he never could. I can't believe he ever forgave me for killing her.

A/N: I'm gonna finish it as it was begun, in chapter form instead of put it all up in one long run on paragraph. More to come.


	7. CreepToday

I don't own emotion, I rent. It's almost done now. Two songs, one for Mark, and one for her.

"When you were here before/Couldn't look you in the eye/You were just like an angel/Your skin made me cry/You float like a feather/In a beautiful world/I wish I was special/You're so fucking special" –Radiohead"

"Today is the greatest/Day I've never known/Can't wait for tomorrow/I might not have that long/I'll tear my heart out/Before I get out/Pink ribbon scars/That never forget/I tried so hard/To cleanse these regrets/My angel wings/Were bruised and restrained/My belly stings" –Smashing Pumpkins-

Chapter 7:

I can only describe that time as awesome, probably one of the best in my life. I loved her so much, and I no longer had to hide anything from her because she did it, too. We would spend days with our head in the clouds, and not even the snide remarks from Mark could hurt my high.

I joined another band, and April went to work at this bar we frequented instead of going back to school. She claimed she couldn't do it anymore; I know she meant she couldn't let her former friends see what she'd become. But she never told her parents, and they sent tuition checks to her religiously at the beginning of every semester that would keep us high for months.

Despite my ever tense relationship with Mark, I got along with the others who streamed in and out, especially Collins, who was always good for some kind bud when our stash got too low.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…

_April lay curled up under a blanket on the sofa staring idly at the TV. She had developed a slight cough and did not feel particularly up to working at The Mudd Club. Leaning over the edge of the sofa, Roger planted a sloppy kiss on her lips, one hand clinging to his guitar. "You sure you're ok if I go?" he inquired, stroking her hair out of her face as he continued to kiss her. "I can blow 'em off…"_

_Smiling, she shook her head. "I'll be fine… Besides, I'm not alone, Mark's here… Somewhere. It's just a cold," she whispered, running a hand along his arm. "Go. The 'Hungarians' can't play without you." Before he could step away, she grabbed him by the hair, pulling him down for another kiss. Biting on his lip as she pulled back, she added, "Just don't be gone too long."_

_Grinning, he backed away. "Love you," he murmured as he slipped out the door._

_She watched him disappear, a grin in the corner of her mouth, before returning to her mindless program. After a few minutes, she sighed and called out, "Mark, please don't lurk."_

_He walked slowly out of the kitchen with a smirk on his face. "How'd you-"_

_She flashed a smile at him, patting the sofa beside her. "I always know." As he folded himself onto the couch, she regarded him silently. "Mark, love, what's wrong?"_

_He blinked a few times, looking over at her slowly. "N-nothing's wrong, April. What makes you say that?"_

"_I know you're mad at me," she commented bluntly. "And I know how much you hate Roger. But, for god's sake, Mark, don't blame him."_

"_If it wasn't for _him_," he growled through clenched teeth, "you wouldn't be like this…"_

"_Like what, Mark? Happy? You remember what I was like before I met him..." She stared at the film maker while he examined his hands in an attempt to avoid her gaze. "Mark, it was my choice. It's always been my choice." She looked down at her own hands. "And before you judge, tell me how Maureen is better for you."_

_He glanced up at her open mouthed. "It's nothing like this! She'd never ask me to…"_

"_And neither did he. He ran away, and I couldn't deal with being here where everything smelled like him, or at my dorm where everything didn't." She put her head in her hands, racking her brain to filter all the thoughts racing inside into a sensible statement. "I know I'm different now, but honestly, I wouldn't change it Mark. If I was still sober and all collegic, we would never make it past the point where it first ended. And if you ask me if it's worth it, if he's worth it, I can't say no." She sighed softly and wrapped the blanket tighter around her arms. "And I want you to be friends."_

_At that, Mark scoffed unintentionally, scanning the wall across from him as he shook his head. "You can say it's worth it, and that you wouldn't have it any other way… But I miss who you used to be." After a few moments of silence, he added, "And that shit's gonna kill you."_

_Attempting to laugh, she coughed into her hands. "We all die sooner or later, Mark. I'd rather know before I go."_

_Instinctively, he reached across the sofa and started robbing her back as she continued to cough. "If you won't change the past, please be safe for the future. Go to the doctor… You've been coughing like this for weeks."_

_She offered him a slight smile as she got her lungs under control. "Yes, mother…" Snaking one thin arm out from the blanket, she touched his face gently. "You're too good for all this bullshit. And I'm going to bed," she finished, pushing his glasses up his long nose. Standing slowly, she walked back into Roger's corner still wrapped in the blanket, pulling the curtain shut behind herself._

_Mark watch for a long minute, knowing full well that she would probably shoot up before passing out. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back on the sofa as he listened to her cough…_

He actually tried to be nice to me for a good two, three weeks before remembering how much he hated me again. I wish it could have ended differently.


	8. The Child is Gone

Still aren't mine… This is the last part. I dedicate it to those who've come and gone, and those who've laughed with me as we watched the 14 year olds squeeze into too small costumes in front of the Nederlander in a vain attempt to get rush tickets that were already going to be mine. Love to Leah for the ass-tastic times, good and bad, and to Pete who always insured I had a good seat. When one door closes, a new one opens. Slainte.

"Darling, give me your absence tonight/Take the shade from the canvas and leave me the white/Let me sink in the silence that echoes inside/And don't bother leaving the light on/'Cuz I suddenly feel like a different person/From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion/And I ran my hand o'er a strange inversion/A vacancy that just did not belong/The child is gone/ Honey help me out of this mess/I'm a stranger to myself/But don't reach for me, I'm too far away/I don't wanna talk 'cuz there's nothing left to say." -Fiona Apple-

Chapter Eight

Her cold got worse. It seemed like every other day she was back at the doctors, whether for the aches, the fever, or the ever-present stomach cramps. She never left the apartment otherwise anymore. I had assumed she was just knocked up or something.

I had band practice that afternoon; Mark was out filming or looking for gainful employment or whatever it was he spent his time doing anymore. Collins had been at MIT for almost three months, Benny was busy winning over Alison Grey of the Westport Greys, and Maureen had just begun her experimentation with women outside of a threesome.

It was two weeks before Christmas.

It had just begun to snow…

_The green numbers blinked midnight on Benny's VCR as Roger pushed open the door with his foot while balancing his guitar in one hand and a warm six-pack in the other. "Baby, you here?" he called, knowing that she had to be; she had not left in almost a month. The setting sun pierced though the holes in the make shift curtains, flooding the room with a violent crimson light. It was almost romantic._

_Roger paused at the brown plaid sofa to drop his guitar bag on it, coughing as a cloud of dust billowed up at him. Still clutching the beer, he meandered into the kitchen, stopping at the refrigerator to deposit the new beer and take out a cold one, along with a piece of pizza that had begun to look questionable. "Baby, you need anything to drink?" he again called, receiving another answer of silence._

_With a shrug, he kicked the door of the fridge closed and preceded down the short hallway to his room. Nudging open the door, he held the pizza in his mouth while digging in his back pocket. "Look, baby, I got candy…" he trailed off as he entered the empty room. "Baby, where are you?" he called as he plopped on the bed. He was answered by some light splashing in the bathroom; she must be taking a bath. _

_Kicking off his shoes, he propped his feet up on the low mattress, finishing the beer in three swigs. He tossed the empty can into one trash filled corner; the pizza crust soon joined it. He could not remember the last time it had gotten this bad; April usually kept in clean for him. Opening his hand, he stared down at the small powder filled baggy. With his other hand, he dug into a pile next to the bed, pulling out a very dirty, badly burned spoon and a dingy looking needle. After a few more minutes of waiting, he dropped them all into a pile on the bed and hopped up. Patience had never been his besotting sin._

_He crept out of his room and snuck further down the hall to the bathroom in hopes of surprising her. He leaned into the door, ear pressed against the splintering plywood and listened for a moment. All he could hear was the crackling from the radio as it tried desperately to pick up a radio signal other than static. With a mischievous grin across his face, he pushed open the door and stuck his head in. "Baby, hurry up…"_

_He did not remember the bathroom being so red when he had left that morning. Wide-eyed, he looked around frantically before panic overtook him. He slammed the door back, causing the mirror to shatter with the force as he dove across the room. Landing on his knees beside the bath, he scooped her limp body into his arms. "Baby, what's wrong… Baby…" he choked on the words as tears threatened to slip from his eyes._

_With his calloused fingers, he brushed the sodden straw-like hair from her eyes. "Baby…" He kept stroking her hair, rocking with her as he felt her shudder for breath once. Her pale eyes fluttered open and he stared, his eyes burning, back down into them for a long second. A few tears slid down from the corner of her eyes and over her freckled nose before her eyes rolled back into her head._

_Her thin neck drooped back over his hand. "No… no…" he managed, pulling her even more out of the water. Streams of pink coursed down her chest as he held onto her, still rocking on his knees. "Please, baby… Wake up…" The words caught in his throat. "D-don't…"_

_But nothing happened as he pleaded. She did not sit up with a crooked grin and wipe makeup off her arms; Mark did not pop out of a hiding place with a camera in tow. "You fucking whore!" he spat as she slid out from his grasp and back under the water. "Don't you fucking leave me… I need you, baby," he moaned as his voice cracked._

_The tears flowed freely, blurring his vision as he scanned around the room, not knowing what he looked for, but looking all the same. He saw her clothes folded neatly, sitting on the top of the toilet seat; perched on her shirt was a folded piece of notebook paper with his name written on it in red marker. _

_He stared down at her for a last moment, running his fingers lightly down her cheek before crawling on hands and knees over to the toilet. With shaking hands, he picked up the paper, turning it over and over again, slightly nervous about what it contained. _

_He turned it back to the side with his name written on it, tracing his shaking fingers over the familiar writing. It took him a long while to actually open it. She had written not in her usual brightly coloured magic marker, but in a regular black pen, and her handwriting was much more rigid than usual._

"_Roger- _

_My fever burns me deeper than I've ever shown to you. I just want to get it over with. _

_Tears form behind my eyes but I do not cry as I count the days pass me by. The last three years were just pretend._

_You say you'll never let me fall from hopes so high. I don't know what to believe in._

_You don't know who I am._

_I realize what I am now to smart to mention._

_I love you. _

_We're dying. _

_We have AIDS. _

_-April" _

_He read it twice before it sunk in at all. It was not until the fourth time that his jaw dropped. The paper crumbled slightly in his hand as he held hard onto it. He did not hear the door open as Mark trudged in, eyes slightly red from a confrontation with Maureen in the Food Emporium._

_------------------------------------------_

_Mark looked around the dark apartment for a minute before noticing Roger's guitar case lying on the sofa. He dropped his coat on the couch as well, then turned to deadbolt the three locks on the door. He hated being alone at night; even with April and Roger here, it was as good as being by himself. He never saw them. Too busy fucking or fighting, as usual. _

_He was almost disappointed that Roger was there, as selfish as he realized it seemed. He really enjoyed talking with April alone; she was the only one who listened. His shoulders hunched, he waddled into the kitchen to see what was still edible. He never could figure out why there was never any food but at least three cases worth of mixed match beers. Not that he minded very much, but he would kill for a sandwich on some days. _

_Finding nothing, he traipsed down to his room, stopping briefly to peek into Roger's. It was empty for the first time in a long time. Maybe Roger had finally been able to get her out. _

_Passing the room, he pushed into his when the light from the bathroom caught his eye. The door was half-open and it was eerily quiet. He paused for a brief second, looking down at the light. Something felt funny to him, but he shook it off and proceeded into his room to play with his thoughts…_

_Mark slipped out of his room almost an hour later, with is hunger renewed and an intense desire to wash his hands. He chastised himself mentally for not getting anything at the store earlier, but after seeing Maureen propped up against the Chef Boy-ar-dee cans with that blonde girl's hand up her skirt, he had lost his appetite. The fight that had ensued afterwards had not helped much, either. And now he felt guilty for imagining that he could be so bold as to group someone in the grocery store, and that the someone he was holding up was April, not Maureen. _

_He furrowed his brow as he noticed the light in the bathroom was still on, and it was as quiet as it had been when he arrived. He figured they had probably fallen asleep without turning off the light, so, while wiping his hands on his tattered shorts, he walked down to the bathroom._

"_Can't remember to do fucking anything…" he muttered to himself as he pushed open the door. He stepped back as he saw Roger sitting stoically on the toilet seat. "Roger, what the fuck? Are you high?" he demanded, stepping back in. Roger remained still. "Yo, space cadet…" he managed before seeing the crimson stain trickling down the outside of the bath tub. "Oh, shit…"_

_He slid across the room, dropping to his knees beside the tub. With one arm, he pulled her head above the water while hitting her face lightly with the other. "Come on, April, wake up… Can you hear me?" Her skin was cold and devoid of colour. His gaze shot up at Roger. "How long has she been like this?" he inquired._

_After a few seconds, Roger managed, "Two… two and a half hours…" His voice sounded like sandpaper and he never lifted his gaze from his hands and the paper they held._

"_Jesus," Mark spat, skidding across the floor until his back hit the wall. He stared at his hands, watching the pink water dry on his palms. "Have you called anyone?" he again demanded. Roger remained mute, eyes glued to the paper. After a minute, Mark regained the use of his legs, standing and stomping over to Roger. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he shook him violently. "Roger, did you call an ambulance?"_

_Snapping to Roger shoved Mark away. "Don't touch me…" His voice cracked as he repeated, "Don't touch me… Don't touch her…"_

_Mark spat a curse at him, then turned around and reached into the water, grabbing her bloody wrist to search for a pulse. He knew it was hopeless, but he tried nonetheless. He probed her tattered forearm for a sign of any hope for a moment before Roger shoved him away, finally vacating his perch. "What are you doing? I'm trying to help…"_

"_We've got AIDS," he cried, the words sounding as if they were being ripped from his soul. "She has AIDS…" _

_Again Mark stared down at his hands, at the drying blood on his fingertips. Blinking a few times, he stumbled to the sink and scrubbed his hands until they were raw. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat as he stared at the pink, chapped flesh of his palms. In his head, Roger's last words rang repeatedly. April, his April, she could not have been sick. She was young, she was beautiful… She could not be dying… She could not be lying two feet away from him dead…_

_He was pulled from his trance with water splashing behind him. He turned in a daze to watch Roger, curled beside the tub, holding onto April tightly as he rocked back and forth. Mark saw the tears teetering in the corner of his eyes and decided upon a hasty exit._

_He did not bother turning on the light as he stumbled down the hallway towards the kitchen. He had to stop to catch himself against the wall twice, forcing himself to continue to the phone. He would have time to grieve later; now they needed some help from the professionals. If they waited any longer, there would be trouble._

_He somehow found the phone and grasped it in his shaking fingers. It took four times to successfully dial a three digit phone number, and luckily by that time he had found his voice enough to speak. "We need help… My roommate's dead… Please send some help… I'm on the south side of St. Mark's Place…"_

_The flurry of noise and activity made Mark jittery. He was trying as hard as he could to remain calm and blend in with the wall while the paramedics and the police swarmed the apartment. He almost lost it when they wheeled her out, white sheet covering her from head to knee. Roger was still curled up in the bathroom; Mark had made sure to hide all the paraphernalia before any of the cops had shown up._

_He slid down the wall, hugging his knees to his chest as the last of the paramedics walked by. Burying his head in his arms, he finally began to cry. From down the hall, he could hear them grilling Roger. Shaking from head to toe, he managed to whisper, "I kept screaming in her ear, 'Wake up, wake up...' She just couldn't hear me."_

In the bridges he burned or the way that she died.

495780, 495781, 495782, 495783….


End file.
